


Solitaire

by charbax



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Established Relationship, Gen, M/M, Minor Injuries, Missing Scene, Post-Canon, bad medical decisions, do not walk off bullet injuries kids, i mean graves walks it off but, yeah this isnt technically when graves was captured and thrown in the locker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-03 22:37:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20460647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charbax/pseuds/charbax
Summary: After a bad run-in with pirates, Graves is left to pick up the pieces of this card pick-up and find his way to TF. The more things change, the more things stay the same.In between scene fic for Albawrite's fic, 52 Pick-Up. Read the On the Way to Piltover Series for this to make sense.





	Solitaire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [albawrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/albawrites/gifts).
  * Inspired by [52 Pick-Up](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7872280) by [albawrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/albawrites/pseuds/albawrites). 

> As said in the summary, this fic would only make sense if you've read Alba's fantastic fic, 52 Pick-Up from the 'On the Way to Piltover' series, which I feel is like a TF/Graves STAPLE. Giddyup outta here and read that first. 
> 
> Also, I'm late to the TFGraves party but that's a-ok! I got another idea tossing around in my head for these two but it's still in the cards (ha, the jokes, I make them). For now, enjoy, and kudos/comments still fuel me.

His first thought upon waking up is ‘Aw, hell.’

The immediate follow-up is ‘Ow.’

His bullet-blasted side aches something bad, radiating outwards to the rest of this body, like ripples in water. He groans and tries to feel his side to gauge the damage. His arm stops partway, something rattling, and he looks down with a frown.

There’s a cuff around his wrist, chaining him to the bed. He lets his arm fall back to the bed with another groan, this time of frustration. He might as well look at the trouble he’s in, he reasons, and starts taking in the room - it’s a small clinic, a shelf full of neatly lined medical tools and potions, and a chair dragged next to the bed. It’s empty. That doesn’t surprise him. No-where could keep TF down, not even him in a hospital bed.

What does surprise him though is that the room is empty of any other visitors, such as two police officers of Piltover. With such a large bounty on his head - several thousand serpents worth- it’s a wonder why he isn’t being guarded by at least a half dozen squad of officers inside. That means there must be a bigger problem in Piltover than guarding a mangled outlaw who was in recovery.

They are not without their precautions though, the cuff is evidence of that. Graves exhales through his nose. He’ll find a way out. He’s escaped from the locker. A little handcuff should be a walk in the park.

He glances around. Caitlynn and Viv seemed smart enough to leave the shelf of shiny, _sharp-looking_ medical instruments from arm’s reach of the bed. Damn it. Graves looks down at his wrist again, contemplative. Not the first time he’s had to dislocate his own thumb to slip out of cuffs before, but it makes healing a bitch.

With his other free hand, he starts feeling his bed and the surrounding areas for a stray pen dropped from a doctor, anything; out of desperation, he tries his pillow, and that’s when his fingers hit something hard, and definitely not the soft sheets of the standard clinic bed.

He pulls out a knife, and TF’s smile flashes in his mind. He grins in response.

It’s easy break open the lock on the handcuff; it’s less easy to get out of the bed. His mind is still groggy from the mix of medicine and pain, and his stomach turns like the choppy waters of the Guardian’s sea, but he manages to swing his legs over the bed’s edge. He can stand, at least, as long as he doesn’t rush.

Too bad Graves is bad at taking it slow. He can’t afford it, not when he’s still in dangerous territory. Just because Piltover’s two most competent police officers weren’t around, doesn’t mean there were none lurking outside the clinic’s door. If he had Destiny, then it might’ve worked, but he’s still armless, save for Fates smuggled knife.

For once, he’s going to have to think like Twisted Fate.

If he were the swindler, where would he go? Definitely not through the front door, that’s just walking straight into the arms of whoever might be waiting outside. He looks at the window. It’s a two-story fall, but maybe that’s a good thing, because the street below is empty. If it were TF, there would be no doubt that it would’ve been guarded. Guess they figured that Graves, who just had his insides blasted outside, would be too incapacitated to climb down.

However, they didn’t think about Graves being too much of a stubborn bastard to remain comatose for long.

He makes quick work of the bedsheets, tying them together to make a rope. It’s the oldest jailbreak trick in the book, but it works. After testing it with a few tugs, he ties one end to the bed post and flings the other end out the window. He tugs the anchored end one more time before he was climbing out the window and down the rope.

Each movement is halted and stiff, which made his descent painstakingly slow, success counted in inches. Relief floods him when his boots hit the pavement. He glances one more time at the window, then after a quick look around, he darts off in the direction of Ceecee’s workshop.

While his main concern is Tobias, he is even less than useless right now - still fighting off the pain and fatigue of being shot, and he would be useless in a brawl. And knowing the swindler, where he went, trouble usually followed, and Graves would not be able to keep that trouble off, not unless he has Destiny in his hands.

When Graves makes it to Ceecee’s shop, there is a ‘Closed’ sign swinging on door, but he disregards it and bangs on it anyway. “I’m coming, I’m coming!” Came her reply, and then muted footsteps. “Geez,” Ceecee said once she opens the door. “Can’t you read the sign? It’s closed o’clock right now-“ She stops short, eyes bugging out in disbelief.

Graves offers a shrug as an apology. “Can’t wait ‘til morning.”

For the second time in Graves’ week, Ceecee’s shriek pierces his ears, causing him to cringe. “Malcolm!? But I thought the coppers got ya! When your snake of a partner came in without you, it took all my patience not throw him out for double-crossing ya again. Well, I thought he did, but then he said ya got caught by the coppers, and I nearly threw him out just for abandoning you. But I’m glad to see that ain’t true.

“Now don’t just stand there, c’mon in before anyone sees ya!” She ushers him in quickly. She shuts the door behind him and scurries to the back of her workshop, past the table with a steaming bowl of soup and half-eaten loaf. Malcolm has little time to feel sorry for interrupting her dinner when she emerges with something that looks sleek and shiny and _familiar._

The new Destiny feels right in his hands when Ceecee hands it to him. “She’s already oiled and tuned, she just needs ammo.” She hands him a small clinking bag. “Oh, and don’t worry about paying it off. Your ‘partner’ did that earlier too.”

Always one step ahead. Graves smiles to himself. “I owe him a drink when I find him again. Speaking of, did he tell you where he ran off to?”

“He said he was gonna go back to you, so I thought that’s what’s happened.”

Huh. That still doesn’t help him. Still, he has Destiny now. That is better than before. He thanks Ceecee and leaves her to her meal, glancing around the street. Now, if he were a slippery card shark, where would be go while waiting for his partner?

Before he could brainstorm, there’s a tremendous _boom!_ in the distance, followed by the sound of rumbling. There's a good chance that was Twisted Fate, whether caused by him or happening to him. Strapped for ideas, Graves takes a deep breath and (carefully) jogs off in the direction of Fate.


End file.
